


Lying In Wait

by spookybussy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Crotch Stepping, Degradation, Face-Fucking, Horror, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Magic, Shame, Unrealistic Sex, pennywise takes richies form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookybussy/pseuds/spookybussy
Summary: Eddie opens his eyes (when did they close?) and he can’t see Richie anymore, just how bright the sun is as he tries to sit up. Only for someone’s shoe on his shoulder to stop him, keeping him in a reclined position.-Pennywise uses Eddie's deepest fantasies to torture him, as the object of said fantasies.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Pennywise, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	Lying In Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [patrick_hotstetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrick_hotstetter) for the beta :3

Eddie spends a lot of his time waiting for Richie. He waits for Richie at the end of his driveway when they go to school together. He waits for Richie to stop pretending a tuba is his dick so he can give him the ice cream cone he bought him while it melts, sticky over his fingers. He waits for Richie at night in his room, on the off chance he’ll sneak over and do the flashlight signal they agreed upon to get Eddie to open his window. Now, he’s waiting for Richie at the quarry and the better part of an hour has gone by. All the others were busy today, and they like spending time alone together anyways, even if they don’t talk about why.

With the sun beating down so aggressively on his cheeks and nose, Eddie decides he can do just as good a job of waiting in the water and he starts to strip down to his underwear. He didn’t bring swimming shorts, they never do. He’s never thought about why, but if he had to, he’d conclude he likes the built in routine of it. Getting his briefs wet and then laying out in the sun until they’re dry enough to put his shorts back on. When they all lay in the grass after swimming, just breathing or idly chatting, no talks of what they’re doing next until they dry off, it’s the most relaxed Eddie knows how to feel. 

Eddie’s toes start to sink into the muck of the bottom of the water as he wades in. He doesn’t jump when he’s alone, he doesn’t have anyone to prove himself to. Sometimes, when it’s just him and Richie, Eddie will already be laying out on the small sandy patch that leads up to the water, and Richie will jump off the cliff screaming and swim all the way to where Eddie is. Eddie likes to show off if there’s a group, but Richie shows off just for Eddie. 

As the water climbs up to his waist, Eddie knows there’s a big deep drop coming up, so he starts to float. Eddie loves to float, loves the feeling of weightlessness it gives him, how it's almost like the bubbles in his brain feels after a really good run. When he’s floating like this, and it’s quiet because no one is there yet, he can close his eyes and just see the slight red-orange color the sun makes through his eyelids. He can hear the bugs and the water moving, he can smell the foliage and underlying grime which is undoubtedly the water. He can wait.

It could have been minutes, or days, but eventually he feels Richie floating next to him. Eddie’s eyes are still closed, but he knows it’s Richie. He always knows when it’s Richie. He can feel Richie’s hair tickling the top of his head, meaning they’re floating towards each other. It’s a little odd, as he didn’t hear Richie get in the water. It’s unlikely, but possible, that he waded in just as quietly as Eddie, not wanting to disturb him. Eddie smiles and says, “Hey, Rich.” Richie jostles around in the water, and Eddie feels hands on him, _Richie’s_ hands on his shoulders, turning him around, pushing him down. 

Eddie sighs around his smile and lets himself be pulled.

When he opens his eyes, he and Richie are facing each other. Richie looks serious, so Eddie decides he can look serious, too, even if he thinks it’ll end up being a part of a Richie game he hasn’t heard of yet. They stare at each other with matching expressions on top of their skinny necks attached to narrow shoulders, the rest cut off, distorted into ripples by the blue-green water. Richie’s hair is pushed back and dripping onto his shoulders. His lips look so red, like the clerk at the grocery store who wears lipstick that his mom calls ‘cheap’ and ‘dirty.’ Richie isn’t wearing his glasses, so Eddie can see how his long eyelashes clump together over his big eyes. He can see how his freckles have fully popped to life on top of his pale skin from going most of the summer without sunscreen. Eddie thinks he looks pretty. 

Eddie knows he wants to kiss Richie. He doesn’t know when it began and he doesn’t know when it will end, but he knows with certainty that he wants to. All the time. Even when Richie is being disgusting, sometimes even more so for it. When Eddie thinks about it (he rarely allows himself, and _only_ at night, completely alone), he frequently imagines it just like this. At the quarry, almost naked. If Richie wanted to, they could hump against each other the way Eddie humps his longest pillow during most of his nights now. If Richie wanted to. No one would see them fumbling trying to figure out kissing each other. If Richie wanted.

“Where are your glasses?” 

“Left ‘em on the shore. If they sink in here, we’ll never get ‘em out.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie is pretty sure Richie can’t see shit without his glasses. He’s never really asked, but back when bullies used to take them, he sure acted like he couldn’t see. He’d run around and stumble all over the place. But Richie’s eyes are on his now, laser focused it seems.

“Eds, what do you think of Beverly? Like, when we’re all out here.” Still uncharacteristically quiet, resigned. Maybe Richie is trying to ask him if Eddie thinks he could ask Beverly out. All of his friends seem obsessed with her in a way that Eddie isn’t. He likes her a lot, loves how mean she is sometimes, and how kind she can be, too. Like the flip of a coin. But he doesn’t look at her when they’re all in their underwear, he just pretends to because he’s sure he’s supposed to. He lets his eyes go unfocused and thinks about something else. Richie knows that, though. Eddie’s caught Richie looking away before, too. They’ve caught each other, and they don’t talk about it. Maybe he should. 

“What kind of fuckin’ question is that, Richie? I’m not going to talk about Beverly’s tits with you, get fuckin’ real.” Eddie huffs, which makes the water in front of his mouth spray out at a low level. He sunk a few inches to try and cover his blush that rose high on his cheeks as soon as Richie looked in his eyes for more than five minutes without telling a joke. Some of the spray from his mouth hits Richie’s collarbone. Eddie focuses on it, he didn’t realize they were that close. They weren’t this close a second ago?

“I don’t know, Eddie baby, I had another set of tits in mind.” Richie’s eyebrows waggle and his stupid crooked overbite comes out full force, even the little skin fold under his eyes appears like it does when he’s really smiling. Eddie finds himself warming up, Richie doesn’t mean what he thinks, he definitely doesn’t—

Eddie’s still wading just under the surface, the harsh line of the water bobbing up and over his lower chin and lips when he feels Richie’s hands creep along his sides, leading up to Eddies pebbled nipples, but there’s no way Richie means… is there? His hands move lightly, Eddie’s lashes flutter, until he feels hands plant firm right on his ribs and squeeze. Eddie gasps and gets water right up his nose. He’s coughing and light headed and is about to fucking scream at Richie for trying to tickle him here of all fucking places and why did his hands feel so fucking big, like they could span his whole ribcage?

But as he splutters and gets the rattling of his brain under control, Richie grabs him. He hauls Eddie into his chest easy in the water like this, weightless still. Before Eddie can catch his breath, Richie is kissing him.

The most experience Eddie’s had with kissing is practicing on his own hand while thinking of sometimes Richie or sometimes the church youth group leader, Andrew. Eddie doesn’t need to know what kissing is supposed to feel like to know that this is _really fucking good._ Richie’s hands still feel unnaturally huge under the water, one is on Eddie’s left nipple, the other fanned out over Eddie’s ass, keeping him on Richie’s hip. Are his legs longer? How can he hold him up so high? It doesn’t matter because it’s perfect and what he wants and he can arch just right and get his instant erection against Richie and _grind._

Richie curls his tongue into Eddie’s mouth at the same time as he twists his nipple hard, getting Eddie to make a deep noise from his throat that he never would have guessed he was capable of. He sounds so transparently wanting that it should be embarrassing. He’s never made a noise from fooling around with himself before, including the time he tried putting a finger in his ass after finding out you could even do that from Patrick Hockstetter. Who sometimes taunts Eddie and says he’d love taking things up his ass. He was right, Eddie did love it, but nothing can compare to the fire he feels inside of his core with Richie touching him like this. Like he knows what he’s doing.

“Didn’t take any persuading at all? Did it, Eddiebear? Just a cute little slut, huh?”

“What? Richie, I—” But Eddie feels sand on his wet back, and he’s on the shore. He wasn’t before, he’s sure, he knows he wasn’t. Did he fall asleep? Did Richie carry him back here? Richie, where is—

Eddie opens his eyes (when did they close?) and he can’t see Richie anymore, just how bright the sun is as he tries to sit up. Only for someone’s shoe on his shoulder to stop him, keeping him in a reclined position. He looks up and up and up a little more and it’s a strange man. Eddie’s heart thuds loud in his chest. Immediately and overwhelmingly aware that he’s still hard in his white underwear, that are now opaque from the water. Sand grates along his legs as he stretches them out before lifting his knees slightly, preparing to cover himself as best he can.

Eddie doesn’t want to look directly at the man, ashamed that he’s out in just his underwear swimming to begin with and so fucking confused. Eddie’s eyes follow along the length of the man’s leg, stemming from the boot that was just on his shoulder, up again to his face. Something about him looks familiar, but Derry is small. He’s sure he’s seen everyone there is to see. At best, the man is out here to fish. He found Eddie washed up to shore and wants to make sure he’s okay. At worst, he found him and Richie grinding against each other, somehow knocked them out in the water, stashed Richie somewhere and now Eddie is going to have to run. He looks back down at his own knees critically, like they’ll have some answers and says, “Who are you?” with as much gravitas as he can muster given the situation. 

“What? You don’t recognize me? You jerk off your little dick thinking about me almost every night. It’s cute. I can watch you when you do it, _Eds._ ”

Eddie's stomach bottoms out as he instinctively pulls his knees even closer to his chest trying not to look like he’s cowering. Who does this guy think he fucking is? How could he see him? Eddie knows he closes his thick, tacky curtains every night since he realized what his dick is for. The only person he thinks about (besides some handsome, older men in town) is… 

But that doesn’t make sense. This guy is like, forty. He’s covered in hair, he’s not _Richie._ Where’s Richie? 

“Yeah, it’s me. Your favorite pal, ol’ Richie.” Eddie’s heart hammers, he can’t fathom any of the information being fed to him. His train of thought is shaking like the whippy roller coasters that his mom never lets him on. 

Eddie lets himself look up at the man with scrutiny for the first time. He’s big, Eddie has to strain his neck to peer up at him since he’s sitting at the guys feet. He could be Richie. He has dark hair, but it's thinning a bit at the top. Big cheekbones, the same eyes under his more grown up glasses. He’s handsome like Richie, like Eddie won’t let himself say out loud. It doesn’t make any fucking sense though, he was just with Richie, _his Richie._ He’s still hard in his fucking tighty whiteys to prove it. 

Eddie feels the boot on his thigh, nudging his legs open, and he makes eye contact with the man. One of the man’s eyes wanders off center, just a bit, just for a second. Like he wants Eddie to see it. 

Eddie screams. 

He hears it piercing through the quiet space like it’s not his own. The boot on his thigh presses down harder, to the point of pain, spiking up his leg and shooting, horrifically, right to his dick. He suddenly feels inexplicably small, when all this man— Richie, his brain spits at him— has to do to trap him is pin him down with one foot and seemingly no effort. It feels like when Pennywise had him in the kitchen of Neibolt, larger than life and taunting Eddie’s broken arm. 

“Where ya goin, Eds? I thought you wanted me.” Richie giggles, and it sounds like his Richie again. It’s the same giggle Eddie hears when he sneaks calls to Richie late at night, when his mom is asleep in her recliner. 

Eddie’s breath is ragged, uneven, as he attempts to kick his legs out with any strength he can find to free his thigh. He’s vaguely aware there’s tears falling down his cheeks.

“Don’t get shy on me now, _baby,_ you were just mewling for it in the water. Your little dick is still so hard for me.” 

Eddie is scrambling backwards, slowed down by the pressure on his thigh and the sand underneath his hands and feet making his grabbing ineffective. This Richie’s handsome features turn mocking as he starts to coo, like Eddie is a cute, dumb baby grabbing at his big fist. He lifts his foot by millimeters, letting Eddie start to crabwalk away. 

Eddie flips over, fast, still in a crawling position, poised to propel himself upright and run as fast as he can. Big hands, the same ones he felt under the water, he thinks distantly, grab and maul at his shoulders. He’s flipped effectively onto his back. He pushes Eddie’s scrawny biceps down into the sand with his big knees, and it fucking hurts. He’s looming over Eddie, blocking the sun with his wide shoulders, and laughing at him. 

“You don’t want to get away, Eddie,” Richie reaches back and cups Eddie’s — _shit_ — still fucking hard dick, fondling it. “I’m doing you a favour. I know what you think about. You’re fucking _sick,_ Eddie, and you know it. But I can give you what you want.” Richie’s thumb pushes over the head of his cock and Eddie bucks up involuntarily.

“You don’t know shit, asshole! Get the fuck off of me!” Eddie is shocked he has a voice at all, but this Richie’s big, calloused hand groping him over his wet underwear has a hot steel poker of arousal shoving itself down his throat and he needs to get away, he has to stop it _now_ or else— 

“I know when you sleep over at Stan’s house, you go into the bathroom so you can smell his daddy’s cologne and rub yourself until you squirt all over the toilet bowl like a little desperate whore.” Richie is opening his pants, thighs on either side of Eddie’s torso and Eddie can feel himself hyperventilating. He’s thought of men he knows, when he thinks about his first time. How they’d be sure with their touches and would be able to move his body around. But he’s thought of Richie, too, his Richie. That his Richie would be sweet and awkward if he ever convinced him to do something like this. 

“You think people can’t tell? You think people don’t know?” This Richie is spitting out his words more hysterically now, flecks of it are landing on Eddie’s face, his torso. Hastily, he draws his large cock out of his pants. It’s huge, too big to be normal, Eddie’s sure. It looks like it’s the length of Eddie’s entire face, and it’s angry red, leaking from the tip. From this angle underneath it, he can follow the thick vein on the underbelly with his eyes, all the way up to the fat, spongy looking head. This Richie strokes from base to tip one good time, causing the liquid pooling in the slit to overflow, two solid drops landing right on Eddie’s forehead. Alarmingly, Eddie thinks about what it would taste like in his mouth, can feel the space under his tongue begin to pool with saliva. 

“When you go to the library in your tiny shorts because you had a dream that the librarian fucked you dry on the floor? When you bend over at the waist to get the books on the bottom shelf and you think people don’t know you want cock?” This Richie punctuates his rant with another stroke along his thick cock before letting the head fall heavy on Eddie’s lips. Eddie tries to move his head, but he knows he’s not trying nearly hard enough. He feels mesmerized by the dick in front of him.

“I know you’re drooling seeing a cock like this in front of you for the first time. Open your mouth, Eds. Show Richie what you’re good for.” 

Eddie feels a last match strike of defiance light up in his chest, and he clamps his mouth shut, skin around it turning visibly white by how hard he’s clenching down on his own lips. This Richie laughs almost like Eddie is something cute, and pinches Eddie’s button nose in between his long, square-tipped fingers. 

Eddie’s vision swims after a few seconds, hot tears leaking down the sides of his face, into his ears, onto the sand. He won’t open his mouth, he won’t. Everything this Richie said is true, but if he fights this off viciously enough, like he isn’t hard, like he doesn’t want to feel what it’s like to choke on his dick, he could be better, right? 

Eddie’s mouth opens with a huge gasp of air, he barely lasts a minute. Richie mutters, “That’s it,” under his breath and rears his head back, like he’s going to head butt Eddie in the nose. Eddie’s eyes instinctively flinch closed, but he hears the hocking sound and feels the warm, bubbled up spit land on his tongue, knowing exactly what it is without needing to see it. Eddie opens his eyes and Richie rubs his spit around on Eddie’s tongue with the tip of his cock saying, “You love playing loogie, right, Eds?” before spitting another fat wad right on Eddie’s cheek. 

Eddie thinks about all the times his Richie had done the same thing, on the ground or on the steps at school. How sometimes he thought about what it would be like for Richie to tell him to lick it up, because Richie is gross, but Eddie’s disgusting. 

Eddie opens his mouth as wide as it can go and sticks his tongue out like he’s in Mr. Tozier’s dentist chair, sliding along Richie’s cockhead, curling and cupping it. He tells himself if he cooperates, it can be over, this whole thing can end. But he’s used to lying to himself.

Richie spits in his mouth again, for good measure or something, talking about how wet Eddie needs to be, but he’s not listening. He’s already wet as Richie slides his fat cock in Eddie’s mouth until he bumps his throat and then some more. Eddie has dreamed of sucking cock, always about how it would taste or how big it would be or how it would make him feel dirty, but it’s nothing like the real thing. 

Richie’s big cock fills his mouth so much the corners of his lips stretch painfully with it, it’s too much, it's perfect, it's not enough. If he puts his fear aside, he can forget this is the clown entirely, and it quickly becomes the hottest thing Eddie’s ever imagined. It’s Richie, his Richie, but big, big how he wants the person fucking him to be. Eddie wiggles his small tongue to test the room he has, and Richie’s hips jerk forward, muttering, “Yeah, just like that,” before plunging the head past the tight restriction of Eddie’s throat and stuffing it as deep as it can go, and _holding it there._

Eddie can’t breathe, again, but this time he’s ready, he wanted the obstruction there. He relaxes his mouth as much as he can, breathes through his nose, keeps his eyes closed, and moves his tongue along where he can feel the vein. The slippery slide of it makes his own cock jolt, and Eddie hikes his hips up and _moans,_ something filthy. 

“Yeah, fucking look at that, opening right up for it,” Richie’s hands come back to grip into Eddie’s hair, angling his neck and face exactly the right way to use Eddie as nothing but a smooth tunnel to fuck into. Something Eddie never thought about when he thought about sucking cock, was the noises. As Richie batters his cock into Eddie’s throat, so deep that the spit starts to pour out of his lips despite them being practically vacuum sealed to Richie’s shaft, the noises are what's making Eddie’s steel stiff dick leak the most. The squelching of Richie’s cockhead tearing into his throat, the way he sputters around it with little choked off moans he can’t help, Richie grunting like an animal above him, all of it is so fucking hot Eddie could explode. 

Richie pulls his entire cock out on the next stroke, pulling out ropes of the thick spit from the back of Eddie’s tongue with it. One big hand cupping his hairy balls and the other holding the shaft to noisily slap it against Eddie’s face, causing the spit to _splat_ and stretch thin, connecting Eddie’s cheek, nose, lips, with Richie’s cock. 

Richie weaves his spit-wet hands back into Eddie’s hair, grabs tighter this time, and starts grinding his balls into Eddie’s face. Eddie was right about the cock being the size of his head, when Richie’s balls slip into his still open mouth, he can feel the shaft bounce along his nose. He sucks hard at Richie’s balls, feeling the slippery movement of the rest of his dick along his spit drenched face. The gritty feeling of Richie’s wet pubes meeting his equally sticky skin. The wrinkled skin in his mouth is loose, when he moves his tongue along it, he catches hair, but finds the firm middle and rolls it around in his mouth. Richie presses closer with his hips, and pushes Eddie’s face deeper into his balls. Eddie inhales through his nose and whimpers, the smell. He smells like a man. “You’re disgusting, Eddie. No man will ever fuck you, and if they do, it’ll be just like this, and you’ll love it. You’re desperate for it.” Richie pulls back out, starts stroking his long cock with impressive speed right in front of Eddie’s face, and he feels fucking stupid with how badly he wants it back _inside._

Eddie’s face lurches forward, tongue first, trying to suck, taste, feel, anything— 

But Richie stops him with a hand on the top of his head, and jackhammers his other hand, balls to tip. Eddie feels like he’s been under a trance, he can’t stop staring at the way Richie’s big, hair dusted fingers squeeze along the base and thick middle of his shaft, up to twist around the tapered head. Eddie is sure there would be stars shooting out of his eyes if he was a cartoon. Richie’s telling Eddie, “Yeah, stay just like that, mouth open, you’re gonna taste come, finally, Eddie, get ready—” 

Richie’s come lands in ropes over Eddie’s face, over his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, into his open, waiting mouth. Much like the dick seems inhumanly big, the amount of come that shoots out is obscene. Eddie’s face is almost totally covered. His tongue pokes up and gathers some along his lips and gets a mouthful, before letting it coat his tongue. He looks up at this Richie, whose heaving and still tugging occasionally at his balls. 

Richie moves his knees off of Eddie’s arms, dark purple bruises already forming in their wake, and he stands up. 

Eddie’s hands shoot down to his hard dick as soon as his arms are released, desperate to touch, desperate to come like he’s never felt before. For one glorious second, he’s able to rock his hard cock into his cupped palms. He only needs two or three good pumps and he’s going to come harder than he ever has in his life—

Richie’s boot kicks at his arms, knocking them pathetically easily away from his suffering dick, he says, “Now, Eddie, you don’t need those. You can get off like the filthy little bitch you are, right?” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, looking up at this Richie while he slowly, so fucking slowly, steps his chunky black boot over Eddie’s cock and balls. 

Eddie is going to cry, its not nearly enough pressure, its basically feather light, he needs to fucking come, he was good and he deserves it. He rocks his hips up to try and grind against the propped up boot, but it just evades him the closer he gets. Richie taps lightly on Eddie’s cock with the sole of the boot, tuts and says strong as ever, “Ask for it.”

Eddie is panting on the ground, caked in sand, and so fucking desperate and encompassed in the shame of it that he doesn’t even think twice. Just licks his lips and utters, “Please.” 

Richie taps his boot, harder this time, and an electric current jolts through Eddie’s bones. Eddie’s so close, the taps themselves could almost get him off, just from contact. He whines in the back of his throat. When he stretches his neck back, he can feel the dried spit and come on his face making his skin taut. Richie giggles, but it’s higher this time, makes the hair on Eddie’s arms stand up. Makes him, or would make him so fucking terrified if he wasn’t so needy. “Oh, _‘please’_?” Richie says in a mockery of Eddie’s younger, squeaky voice. “Please, what?”

“Please let me hump against your shoe!” Eddie lets out embarrassingly loudly, like he can’t help it, like it’s ripping out of his throat. It seems to have worked a little, as Richie adds about a centimetre more pressure against his abused cock. 

“That’s all you’re getting, and you have to do all the work. I want you to _feel_ how sick you are, Eddiebear.”

Eddie makes quick work of grinding his cock into the textured sole of the boot. He can feel all the crevices through his too thin, still wet underwear. The smaller, much less impressive flare of his dick catches in the groove above the heel and he _wails_ with it. 

“You’re nothing but a sick little freak.”

Eddie’s breath is barely coming in and out of his lungs, he’s going so fast, hips arching as aggressively as his thin legs can manage. He barely understands why hearing these awful things is making his hair trigger even shorter, but he doesn’t have time to think about it beyond how fucking well it’s working. He’s building and building and fucking accelerating towards something and he’s so close— he just needs— 

“You’re just a useless hole for cock, Eddie, you always will be,” Richie grinds down his heel right over Eddie’s dick and he sees stars. The pain is so intense, he thinks he might pass out, but not before he’s coming all over his underwear. Eddie’s never felt anything in comparison to this, everything else he’s ever felt is depressingly muted suddenly. He’s terrified and he’s hurt and he’s never felt better. 

He’s able to come down from whatever fucking high that was for not even two minutes before he sees Richie come up to where his face is, lift his leg so the sole of his boot is right over his face. Eddie can see the sick shine of his own come in the little spaces. He hears, “You’re going to die, sick and alone, Eds, and I’ll never want to fuck you,” before the boot starts to come down, fast, and he sees and hears nothing at all.

*************************************************

Eddie’s lungs burn on the sharp inhale, a scream starting to bubble from his lips. His eyes adjust, and it’s darker, around sunset. He’s lying in the sand still. And someone’s running towards him. He has a split second, but he starts to try and get away.

“Eddie! Eddie, what the _fuck,_ man?! Do you know what kinda fucked up shit could happen to you out here?! I saw fucking Hockstetter and Belch, on my way over, what the fuck. Why are you just lying there fucking naked, dude?!” It’s Richie, _his Richie,_ pulling him up by his arms. Dragging him over to the small pile of his clothes, where he didn’t remember leaving them, pushing them into his arms.

“Uh. I guess I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, and they call me fucking stupid, huh, Eds?”

Eddie gulps, blushes, pulls his clothes on hastily. He notices he’s not, in fact, covered in come or quarry water. Chalks it up to a strange dream. They killed the clown, or at least they think they did. They were unsure enough to make the pact to come back. Derry’s been fucked up for years, not just every twenty-seven of them. So, maybe the clown has magic all the time. Anyways, if it was real, maybe he’d want to do it again, with anyone really. He thinks about how he could get himself allowed to sleep over Richie’s house tonight, maybe. See what Richie would do differently than his counterpart. He won’t but it feels like just a matter of time until he gives in to that again, now that he’s had it. 

“Earth to Eduardo! Hello!” Richie waves his small, hairless hand in front of Eddie’s face, and he lets himself snap out of it. Lets himself walk over to where he left his bike, Richie’s next to it. He lets himself wait some more for Richie Tozier to mumble, “Whatever, weirdo,” and stomp over to his bike as well. Maybe he’ll just wait another thirty years for Richie Tozier to be who he wants him to be.

**Author's Note:**

> "We lie best when we lie to ourselves." Stephen King.


End file.
